Clothing and Credit Cards (a bad combination)
by purpleicecrystals
Summary: Chuuya likes clothes. Dazai buys him clothes. On Chuuya's credit card. Executive or not, Dazai still manages to make his life a hectic mess. (aka Dazai resolutely refuses to understand the concept of privacy, and of using his own credit card) skk week 2017; prompt day 1: sartorialism- an interest in matters of or relating to the tailoring of clothing


Contrary to popular opinion, Chuuya is not obsessed with clothes. He does not, thank you very much, have a staggering mass of fabrics in his closet threatening to fall out at any wrong touch, nor does he have a compulsive buying disorder in regard to clothes.

In fact, his opulent spending habits (which would financially cripple anyone who didn't have a ridiculously high Port-Mafia-Executive salary) are reserved solely for basic living necessities.

Because fuck anyone who says expensive alcohol, 1000 thread count silk sheets, and imported fruits are not living necessities; it's important to maintain one's health in this line of work, dammit! (note how he doesn't mention his top floor apartment with ceiling-to-floor windows facing Yokohama Bay)

No, Chuuya is very picky about clothes. He's a classy fucker who goes to high-end stores and has has his clothes tailor-made, sometimes even personally designed. Consequently, he owns a limited amount of items. He matches them meticulously, and has full sets of pre-paired outfits. His closet is organized rigorously and efficiently.

Which is why he's so surprised when he finds a box addressed to him tucked neatly to the trim by his front door.

"The fuck?" Chuuya turns the package over in his hands, and looks around carefully. Nothing seems out of place, so he closes his door and sets the box on the kitchen island.

He pulls a switchblade out of a drawer and carefully slides it through the tape. He pulls open the box to find… a mass of ruffles? Honestly, he has no idea what the fuck else it could possibly be given that huge, sheer, apricot-colored swaths of fabric were overflowing from the brim of the box.

He plunges his hands into the box grabs a fistful of material, and _pulls_. He keeps on pulling. It just _keeps on coming out_. After some struggle, he managed to tug out the offending item, which he splays on the counter top.

It's a stunning floral mermaid dress with incredibly long ruffles. Not quite to Chuuya's personal taste, but still lovely. Considering that the box is addressed to himself, and that he most definitely does not go on shopping sprees drunk, surely someone must have sent this to him, with the the expectation that he would pass it on. Highly suspicious and even more unusual, as anyone in this world would prefer to take credit for any and all gifts.

Unlike most Port Mafia executives, Chuuya has a permanent address; all of his subordinates know where he lives. The dress, then, is probably for Kouyou, from an admirer.

There's more in the box, as evidenced by the tissues and fabric; the mermaid dress shockingly did _not_ take up all of the space in the box.

Chuuya places the other items on the counter one by one. A sheer ombre peacock-blue sequined evening gown. An off-the-shoulders gown in a dazzling blue.

Both of these dresses were clearly designed to brush the floor, but on Ane-san… they would probably end awkwardly at her ankles. Fucking…

A glint of metal pierced his vision from the thin layer of tissues still in the box. Chuuya brushed those aside…

A strappy black… lingerie set?! He furiously ripped out the small card tucked besides the fabric.

Hey shortie! Since your fashion taste is so tacky and so u-gl-y, I, the wonderful and benevolent Dazai-sama, have taken it upon myself to generously grace you with clothes that fit you! All of them were made with your feminine and amazingly short body in mind! Don't worry, I took the liberty of sending the bill to your card Cheers! Dazai 〜(´´๑❛ڡ ๑`)

Chuuya's eye twitched. Every muscle in his body was screaming furiously in unison. Sweat slid down his palm and slowly dripped onto the crushed note in his palm, smearing the smiley face.

"DAZAAIIII," he screamed, "I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU—!"


End file.
